


A Smoking Gun

by masserect



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Community: badbadbathhouse, Gun Kink, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masserect/pseuds/masserect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naoto masturbates with a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Smoking Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All I know about guns, I learned from Metal Gear Solid. Also, is it just me or have I been writing kind of a lot of gun kink...?

The Inaba police station may be small, but it has a small indoor shooting range. 

It does not see a lot of use, just barely enough to meet the required training. Coupled with the small number of officers in town, that means she is usually alone. 

She does not mind; even if she had company, loud noise and ear-muffs tend to get in the way of small talk. It's better like this, when there's just her, the gun, and the target - and for one very brief moment, the bullet. It's almost hypnotic, in its own way. The same motions, over and over. _Aim. Fire._ Six shots. Reload. Repeat. She keeps going until her hands are numb, her arms tingling and her ears ringing. 

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but there is something strangely... satisfying about it. 

_Aim. Fire._

_Click._

She almost has to laugh. So caught up in it that she can't even count to six. 

_Click._ Again, as if trying to prove a point.

She's breathing hard as she removes the spent cases from the gun, reaches for the box of ammo without thinking... stops. Tucks the fresh cartridge she was holding in a pocket, swings the cylinder back and holsters the revolver, then heads for the bathroom. She had come here to burn off some tension, but this kind of tension requires something different entirely.

Her hands shake as she hangs her jacket on a hook on the wall and drops her trousers around her ankles, then sits down on the toilet seat, legs spread as far as she can. She has never been so glad to find a western-styled bathroom.

The revolver is still hot. She bites her lip and whimpers in the back of her throat as she spreads her sex with two fingers and slides the barrel across her exposed clit. So hot, it almost burns.

She wishes it could be hotter still.

She lets out a small moan as she puts it to her entrance and slides it in. _Hot_. Smooth metal. _Hot_. The blade of the sights digging into her sensitive flesh. _Hot. Hot. Hot._

She comes almost immediately, as if that heat suddenly bursts out from the gun to fill her entire body. Her shoes skid and slide on the floor as her legs twist back and forth, straining against the restraints of her pants.

It's not enough. She blinks away the flickering lights, shakes her head and leans back against the cistern. Can't help but whimper softly as she pushes the gun deeper, deeper, until the entire barrel disappears inside her, and it still isn't deep enough. The cartridge she retrieved earlier is in her other hand. A blunt, rounded bullet, smooth and shiny. She puts it against her clit and rubs it, cold metal on hot skin. Harder, rougher than she usually likes it, and every nerve in her body lights on fire. 

She slides down a little further, angles the gun sharper upwards, forcing the blade of the sights to dig sharply into that one particular spot towards the front, and for a moment, she feels like she's falling.

The cartridge clatters on the floor as her hand opens and closes all by itself, and she forces her traitorous fingers back under her control and brings them down to replace the smooth metal on her clit. It's not the same with just skin on skin, but at this point she doesn't even care.

Fingers on her clit, the steaming barrel of a gun in her cunt. Heat, making her wet, making her wetter than anything else, making her drip on the floor, coating the gun, coating her fingers, everything slick, wet, glistening.

She changes her grip, fingers trembling, and pulls the trigger just as she comes for the second time. 

_Click_ goes the gun.

_Bang_ goes Naoto's mind, and a white light bursts inside her head, taking every last bit of her strength with it, leaving her limp and panting with the barrel of her gun still buried deep inside her, the grip clutched in fingers barely strong enough to support it. 

The bathroom smells of come and steel and gunpowder. She winces as she pulls the barrel out, dripping and steaming. She'll have to clean it, she knows, but later. 

Much later.


End file.
